Something Better Change
by Nekko-Sama
Summary: With a new case in New Mexico, a former FBI agent and a patient at the state asylum joins the team in an effort to solve one their most ethical raising cases yet. And Reid gets a little more then involved. ReidxOC


**_Nekko says:_** Hello, as you might notice, this is my first CM work, so any flaws in the story in regard to the original series may be found. I'm not really sure where this story will go, but hopefully something will come out of it. Pairings: ReidxOC

…

**Chapter 0: Prologue**

"What you think you become." 

_**-Mahatma Ghandi**_

…

"Honestly, I don' see why you guys bother t' investigate the murder of a feller already sentenced to death."

Jason Gideon passes the comment with an outward appearance of indifference, but felt disdain towards the haughty remark said by the security officer. "Murder is always a crime, no matter who's the victim."

Following subtly behind, Derek Morgan nods in approval. The security guard however felt otherwise, "Even if it's one of them crazies?"

"Being crazy and being mentally incapable of one's surrounding are two completely different things." Adds Spencer Reid, who strides beside Morgan, uncomfortable with the tall narrow white-walled hall they were currently being led through by a security guard for the New Mexico State Asylum.

The security guard eyes Reid with a hint of revulsion. "Whatever."

The Behavior Analysis Unit had just come upon a case nestled in the center of New Mexico, where Richard Markham, charged with double murder but found mentally unstable to be in prison, was found dead in his asylum quarters, a single bullet shot through his head, execution style. No gun was found in the entire 60 square feet padded room, and almost half the security cameras in the entire asylum premise were discovered as fake; a mere scare tactic for the occupants.

The four arrive at the door to the crime scene, and gaze through the glass window, the two younger agents finding it hard to stay stolid at the sight. The whole room was splattered with crimson blood, pooled around the victim's head, all in stark contrast to the white walls. Forensic agents are either photographing every square inch of the room or asking other security guards for any valuable information.

"Are there any witnesses?" Gideon asks, stepping away from the window and glancing at the other windows that peer into the colorless world of the other inhabitants.

The security guard shrugs. "Only people who care 'bout these crazies are each other." With that, he excuses himself.

Gideon is wary with the information given. "Reid, how many residents are here in this building?"

"10" Reid immediately responds, eyes struggling to vie away from the room. "You think any one of them saw anything?" he asks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

"I'm thinking they might have done some part of it." Gideon finishes, scanning the two agents for their response.

"We'll just have to wait and see." Morgan answers, turning around and heading for the interrogation room, Reid following suit.

Gideon folds his arms and gives a passing glance at the ward behind the crime scene; odd it wasn't cleared out. He catches sight of the back of a figure hunched over a chess set, one leg stretched out, the other tucked towards their chest, heel set on the edge of the seat; something about position that reminded him of something…someone.

By chance he takes a look at a clipboard hanging on the door, spotting the name of the occupant: A. S. Harper. How odd, those same initials belonged to that person he was being reminded of.

_A coincidence._

…

"Alright, you can leave now."

The three agents watch from behind a tinted window as inside, the interrogator dismisses the 7th patient who leaves the room, hands shaking and lips mouthing muted words.

"For Markham to be killed execution style means that the person who was in the room with him was someone that he trusted," Morgan starts, tossing the patients folder aside. "A nurse, psychologist, security guard, maybe family?"

Spencer turns his head thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in thought "Or perhaps his condition was too severe to even render what's going on. It says here that Markham was diagnosed with Dysthymic disorder a few years before he begun killing." He shuddered. "He was so bored with his life, the only thing that interested him and made him feel alive was to kill."

Gideon shook his head, hearing the conversation beside him as he nods towards the security guard who looks through a small window on the entrance door, gesturing to bring in the next patient.

The door opens, and a young woman, a whole generation younger than the rest in the facility, enters the room with her hands cuffed and a security tracker on her left ankle. She seats herself in front of the questioner, eyes downcast, raven hair covering part of her face. The security guard that led her in hands a copy of her file before standing beside the door.

They start slowly, "Do you know who Richard Markham is?"

The woman doesn't respond for a while, hands busy with the handcuffs. Gideon notices her wrists are red from the chafing metal. The woman props her elbows on the metal table they sat beside and smirks, looking up. "I do." Hands are knitted together loosely.

"Do you know what happened to him?"

Her smirk shrinks and she looks around the room, taking in her surroundings. "You know," she starts, mildly startling the three inside the room. "You should really focus on the crime scene rather then the patients here, cause most of them can't say more then three words. You investigators should set your priorities."

All of a sudden, Gideon is pulled with interest. "Is that so?" the interrogator asks.

"But then again, the people watching behind the glass is from the Behavioral Analysis Unit so they're more interested with our inner workings to see if we killed Mark ourselves, correct?" her eyes are staring at them, as if she could see them through the mirrored glass.

Gideon takes out a radio handset that links to an earpiece that the questioner is wearing. "Ask her how she knows."

"How do you know?" he echoes.

"I saw them this morning." The answer is blunt and meant to aggravate them.

Gideon finally makes sense of the mess. _This is the person in the room opposite to Markham._ He looks inside her file, gives a hard laugh. _Small world…_Reid notices this. "Something wrong, Sir?"

"Let me go in."

…

(OC POV)

"Harper, it's been a while."

I look up, and glimpse upon a man who's face seems brusquely familiar to me, their name on the tip of my tongue. I turn my head in suspicion, "I'm sorry but I really can't recall."

"Well then, in that case, I suppose introductions are in order."

Wary with his easiness in this situation in comparison to the previous interrogator, I don't move. How do I know this man? Or perhaps it's just an interrogation method that creates turmoil in the person questioned. Either way, I voluntary allow myself to be absorbed in the conversation.

"Jason Gideon." I say, eyes lighting up in familiarization; now I remember. "How long has it been?"

Gideon is taken aback by my sudden recollection. "You have a good memory."

"Your name tag." I point out. I can hear a small chuckle emitted from his earpiece. Obviously there were more people behind the interrogation window. "So the death of Richard's brought you all the way into New Mexico?"

"You know anything about it?"

I shake my head. "Nothing that can really help." Gideon frowns in disappointment. I look up at the fluorescent light that undulates in an invisible current. "His medication was strong enough to keep him semi-unconscious for days." He winces at the information. "But there was a struggle evident, according to the blood splatter analysis."

"How did you know?"

"I asked."

Gideon seems just as amused as he was troubled. He scans my face unsure what to do right now, at this situation. I eye the security guard's hip holster, the loaded gun resting in its cradle beckoning me to try and snatch it away. My hands pull on the handcuffs harder. _I can't escape here…I need to try something._

"Ah," I wince, as a trickle of blood slowly pools from the side of my wrist, not a major vein, but close enough for…

"Guard, take them off," Gideon calls, getting up. As soon as the key is inserted into its designated hole, I elbow the security guard in the gut, releasing my hands from their metal restriction and throwing a blow to his face when he reels in, rendering him unconscious. As he falls, I seize his gun and point it at Gideon.

"Gideon, hand over your gun." He slowly makes for the pistol, but knowing that there are others about to enter, I snatch it with my free hand from his waist and point it at the door, which opens seconds after, two men with their guns loaded, aimed at me.

"Don't shoot!" Gideon orders to him men, and my hands hesitate with the out of place order. _What is he thinking?_ "Amy, calm down, we just want to help."

Both my hands tighten on the two guns, unsure with what to do. _Escape is important. Just Escape._

"Amy, you were a pretty good profiler back then. You still keep it up?"

"Of course not," I bite, turning to him, but still keeping the two others in my line of sight. "But I don't see how any of this-"

"We're one agent short, perhaps you'd like to prevent this from happening again, possibly to yourself."

I laugh. Gideon wasn't this funny before. "Yeah, like I'm taking that offer."

"It'll be open for one minute and your chance is lost." He is unnaturally calm for someone put behind the barrel.

"Why would I help you? You're the same people that stuck me here." I begin to panic, seeing the two men try to gain distance. I point the two guns at them while I look at Gideon, waiting for what I know he'll say next.

"We can suspend your sentence, a couple of years minimum."

I turn towards him. Things were going the way I planned, I say to myself, suppressing a smile. _I can get out…_I lower one gun, while Gideon motions for the other two men to do the same.

I begin to laugh as I drop the weapons and lean on the table. I wipe the blood that was running down my arm on my prisoner's tunic, kicking the guns in the direction of the agents.

"Why would you want a crazy on your team?" I ask, as I look intently at the nearly clotted cut on my wrist.

"You were pretty good back in the day." He murmurs, getting mixed signals from his partners. Obviously all of this is on the spot. "Your father was too, and I'd like to think that talent in this field of work is genetic."

I sigh dramatically, smirking at Gideon. "How long have you planned to kick me onto your little wagon of behaviorists?" I raise an eyebrow. "Or was it something to get rid of the gun threat?"

"Right when you stepped inside."

Not believing him, I roll my eyes.

"He's telling the truth."

Surprised with this new voice, I turn to the two agents, fishing out the one who just spoke. Brown hair, brown eyes, looked like the quiet librarian type. "Who are you to judge?"

"That is Dr. Spencer Reid, and beside him is Agent Derek Morgan." Gideon finalizes for him, and I give the two of them a hard stare. I jump slightly in fright as the security guard begins to come to, and I shrug. I guess it doesn't hurt to try.

"When do I begin?"

**…**

I hope that the beginning isn't strange or rushed. This idea has been in my mind for a heck of a long time, so any response would be great. Please report any grammar mistakes, thank you.


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